


Monster in the Bed

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Sherlock Kinkmeme.</p><p>Prompt: Mycroft's cock is so big that poor Lestrade can barely take it even. I want to know about all the careful prep, the actual act and how gently Mycroft has to be to make surehe doesn't hurt Lestrade, and after, how much of a limp will Lestarde have and for how long, and does Mycroft inspect him to be sure there was no tearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster in the Bed

Lestrade lay back in the bath, the jacuzzi jets gently playing bubbles across his skin, a glass of fine red wine in his hand, resting precariously on the edge, a solid body behind him, with an arm wrapped loosely around his middle, and a large butt plug giving him a pleasantly full feeling.

  
Mycroft moved slightly, bent his head, and nuzzled Lestrade's ear, catching and lightly licking the edge of it. Lestrade tipped his head back further, exhaling and enjoying the feel of Mycroft's hand trailing patterns over his belly and chest, occasionally promising to dip lower before veering off.

"Relaxing?" Mycroft murmured.

Lestrade nodded, sipping some more wine.

Mycroft turned his head slightly, allowing Lestrade's soft hair to tickle his lips and nose, inhaling the scent of shampoo.

It was a familiar ritual now – familiar, but still uncommon.

  
He'd walked through the door, after a long hard, frustrating day of dealing with murderers, Sherlock and a team who all seemed to be more interested in bickering than catching criminals. And there was Mycroft – glass of wine in hand, looking utterly delicious in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat, leaning against the kitchen worktop, a lovely smell coming from the oven.

Mycroft had walked toward him, kissing him softly, and Lestrade could taste the richness of the wine on his lips and tongue.

"Sit," Mycroft had commanded, putting down the wine and turning to remove Lestrade's coat and jacket, hanging them each carefully before returning to Lestrade, his strong hands dropping onto Lestrade's tense shoulders, kneading the flesh. "Dinner is nearly cooked – I was beginning to worry you weren't going to make it."

"Sorry – blame Sherlock," Lestrade said, not opening his eyes, but resting his head back against Mycroft's stomach, smiling as the fingers made there way from his shoulders down over his chest, one hand slipping inside the open collar of his shirt, stroking over his collarbones.

"I shall have to have words with that boy," Mycroft said, smiling and moving to rub his fingers over Lestrade's scalp – pushing the greying hair into spikes and tufts, where it wasn't already.

Lestrade shifted, opening his legs a little wider – it wasn't just the sure touch of his lover that was making his cock fill out in his boxers – it was the unspoken promise of things to come.

  
When the wine was drunk and the bathwater was beginning to get cold they climbed out, Mycroft wrapping Lestrade in a fluffy towel, wiping away the beads of moisture, worshipping every inch of his body with his hands, mouth and tongue. Lestrade capturing his mouth whenever it came near enough to his own, kissing, gently biting Mycroft's lower lip, rubbing their cheeks together, knowing how Mycroft loved the gentle rasp of stubble over his own skin.

Mycroft dried himself too and led Lestrade to their large bed, which had a fresh towel already laid out on it and some familiar bottles of massage oil on the bedside table. Lestrade had turned though, sliding his arms around Mycroft, kissing him deeply, their tongues slowly exploring each other, breathing the same air, moving in time with one another with the ease of familiarity. As Lestrade held Mycroft's hips, pulling them close, he could feel the bulk of Mycroft's erection, the heat and gentle twitch as it made contact with his own skin.

  
The first night they had been together was a far cry from the slow, practised routine they now had. It had been a battle of shedding clothes, touching flesh, kissing and panting and the fumbling shaking hands brought on by extreme arousal and burning desire.

Mycroft had repeatedly tried to break the kisses, to say something, but Lestrade didn't want to wait. Finally Mycroft had managed it – holding Lestrade's face in his hands, dropping gentle kisses on his lips. "You should know," he had panted. "I…some people…are a little…what I'm trying to say is, I'm apparently quite…well endowed. And some people think…a bit too much, really," and there had been worry in his eyes.

Lestrade hadn't given it a second thought – all he had wanted was Mycroft, inside him – the bigger the better, as far as he could see. He had grabbed Mycroft by the waistband, pulled him close and planted kisses over his neck, hands working to free his shirt from his trousers, to feel more soft smooth skin. "I don't care," he had managed to say, in a second when his mouth wasn't busy.

Mycroft had tried to protest, but Lestrade hadn't listened.

So when he had finally wrestled Mycroft's belt undone and made short work of button and fly on the expensive suit trousers, he had tried to hide his surprise at the handful – more than a handful, if he was honest – that he found inside.

He wondered if Mycroft's tailor had somehow managed to build a Tardis into the man's trousers. Surely he couldn't have missed something this big…no matter how good the cut of the cloth.

Mycroft had obviously read far too much into the slight widening of his eyes, and the nanosecond of pause in his movements.

"Really, I understand, I know people find it…well, alarming," he began stuttering, pushing Lestrade's hands away.

"Shh," Lestrade had pushed him back against the wall, made short work of the buttons on his shirt, following his hands with his mouth, kissing down Mycroft's chest and belly, finally dropping to his knees and freeing the monster below.

He wondered if the country was in safe hands – he thought he remembered the body only had eight pints of blood in it, so he presumed there was great danger of Mycroft's brain being starved of oxygen if he ever got a hard on when at work. Although knowing Mycroft, he could probably control that sort of thing, the way no normal human could.

He couldn't pretend he hadn't been a little bit worried when he could just barely stretch his mouth open wide enough – but nor could he forget the look of utter sadness on the man's face when he thought Lestrade was going to back off.

The gentle hands in his hair, being so careful not to give in to the urge to hold his head and thrust, along with the speed at which Mycroft had come down his throat, told Lestrade that not many people even got that far.

  
Mycroft pushed Lestrade back onto the bed, then waited for him to lie comfortably before moving to the massage oil. He warmed it on his hands, then straddled Lestrade's thighs, using long smooth strokes to rub the slick, scented liquid on his back, working out the knots he found, taking notice of the appreciative sounds when he focussed on particularly tense areas.

Finally Lestrade moved, rolling onto his back, pulling Mycroft on top of him, wrapping his legs around Mycroft's waist.

The kisses were long and slow, Lestrade's nails dragging gently up and down Mycroft's back. He loved the feel of Mycroft's weight on top of him, pressing him down, owning him. And he loved the thrill of anticipation that had been smouldering inside him since he'd walked through the door earlier.

Mycroft shifted, pushing himself up on his arms, head still dipped to kiss Lestrade's lips, neck, chest and then drag his mouth and tongue down Lestrade's stomach and over his belly, finally catching and sucking in his cock, tongue swirling around it.

He reached out and grabbed a pillow, lifting Lestrade's legs up and over his own shoulders, waiting for Lestrade to lift his hips so the pillow could be slid beneath them. He pumped some lube into his hand and stroked it over his cock, the cool liquid a shock on his skin. He moved his other hand down between Lestrade's legs. He pushed his fingers against the flared base of the butt plug, smiling as Lestrade's mouth fell open.

"Mmm, you look utterly wanton," he said, his voice soft.

Lestrade just smiled, eyes closed.

Mycroft gave the plug a few more taps, taking in every nuance of the expressions that crossed Lestrade's face, feeling the slight wriggle of the hips – a silent plea for more. He gripped the base and pulled, removing the thick rubber excruciatingly slowly, smiling himself when he saw Lestrade's fingers gripping the sheets, felt the muscles in his legs tensing.

"Oh, God, Myc…"

He used his other hand, still slick with lube, to push Lestrade's cock against his belly, trapping it under the flat of his palm, moving slightly, just enough to create some friction.

"Fuck, just…hurry up." Lestrade's voice was husky – years of smoking and minutes of passion combining to make it sexy as hell.

He finally discarded the plug, bending down, his own arse in the air as he kissed and licked around Lestrade's balls, running the tip of his tongue along the inside of Lestrade's thighs, dropping kisses and gently grazing his teeth over the soft skin.

His tongue slid over Lestrade's hole – feeling the unnatural looseness from the plug, dipping inside, listening out for the little whimpers of pleasure. He could taste the unnatural flavour of the lubricant, but it was a small price to pay to have every sense filled with the man laid out before him. He moved to reach deeper, his nose pressed into Lestrade's soft skin, lips and tongue dragging over the flesh, thrusting, licking, sucking and finally he slid a finger inside, his tongue still working.

"Myc…" The word was barely more than a moan, and as Mycroft lifted his head, pressing final kisses as he went, he could see Lestrade's cock was rock solid and leaking precum.

He lifted Lestrade's right leg over his arm, the inside of his elbow supporting it behind the knee, and rested Lestrade's left calf against his shoulder, then reached for the lube again and coated his fingers, pooling it in his palm. Two of his fingers slid inside Lestrade easily, and he watched as they disappeared, pumping them slowly in and out, then curling them, knowing when he'd found the spot not from his own touch, but by Lestrade's reaction – muscles jumping, a gasp of pleasure. He pushed a slick third finger in.

"Myc," Lestrade panted. "Come on."

"I don't want to hurt you," Mycroft said softly.

"I'll fuckin' hurt you in a minute, if you don't get a move on," Lestrade almost laughed, but didn't have the breath to manage it, just about getting a smile out before he bit his lower lip to stop a groan.

"Language," Mycroft admonished, wrapping his hand around his erection and guiding it.

"Of all…" Lestrade stopped as he felt the thick blunt tip pushing against his sphincter. "Mmmmm, yeah."

Mycroft took a deep breath, the head of his enormous cock almost overcome by the pressure, but he knew he just had to keep going, to keep up the gentle push. And then, in a rush, he was past the first, tightest rings of muscle. He noted the slight grimace on Lestrade's face and felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I…"

"'S fine, it's good, it's good," Lestrade panted, opening his eyes, meeting Mycroft's gaze, knowing it was what the other man needed. "Christ it's good," he let out a huff of laughter.

  
The first time Lestrade had ever found the courage to let Mycroft take him it had hurt – a combination of his own fear, it being the biggest cock by far he'd ever taken, and Mycroft's own relative inexperience. But Lestrade had come to realise that it hadn't mattered, that he craved it, the pain, and the ultimate full feeling – and more than that, the knowledge that he made Mycroft happy in a way no one else had ever managed. He was pretty sure that if anything ever happened between he and Mycroft he'd never be able to find another man to satisfy him, not now.

  
Mycroft stopped for a second, carefully repositioning Lestrade so both legs were now over his arms, and lifting him slightly so his buttocks and lower back were resting on Mycroft's thighs. He gave another gentle push, watching his solid cock slip inside a little more, millimetres at a time. He was panting now, fighting the urge to push harder, to claim the body beneath him in a few hard thrusts. Then Lestrade tensed beneath him and he stopped, pulling out the tiniest fraction.

"'S okay," Lestrade said. "Just a second, gimme a second."

Mycroft felt a bead of sweat run from his forehead down the side of his face.

"Go on," Lestrade said, finally – and thought it had only been moments, it felt like forever for Mycroft.

He pushed further, adjusting his grip on Lestrade's legs every now and again, until finally his hips were tight against Lestrade's skin, and he allowed the legs he held to wrap around his waist, Lestrade shifting very slightly, pulling him closer, if possible, with the legs now crossed at the ankle. He began to rock, gently.

Lestrade felt Mycroft's hands – still slightly slick with lube – grasp his waist, holding him steady, thumbs hard on his hipbones. As Mycroft moved he felt his own cock bobbing, desperate for touch, but also so close to the edge that he knew any climax would be too soon. He cracked open an eye and saw Mycroft's head tipped back, mouth open, and his own hands twitched, desperate to touch himself, but he resisted, twisting his fingers in the bedding, trying to imagine he was restrained. He dropped his head back, each thrust pulling a gentle whimper of pleasure from him.

One of the hands left him, and shortly after a dribble of more lube trickled down from his balls, over the sensitive skin between his legs and around the tightly stretched, abused skin of his hole, cold against the heat and slightly soothing. The hand returned to his skin, sliding over his belly, up to his nipples, and as Mycroft leant over his cock pulled out a little more, only to be thrust back in as fingers gripped and pinched his nipple, then moved to the other.

"Christ, Myc," he panted, using his legs to increase the speed and depth of the thrust.

Mycroft obviously got the idea, and adjusted, pulling out further again before driving back in.

Lestrade couldn't cope any more, and he freed his right hand, blindly reaching for his own cock. But his wrist was deftly grabbed, and Mycroft stopped all the movement, the only sound in the room harsh breathing and the noise of Lestrade's pulse in his ears. "Bastard," he whispered, his cock twitched, desperate for touch.

Mycroft gave a low chuckle, and with his free hand swept circles on Lestrade's stomach. Then he gently began to pull backwards. Lestrade tried to follow, his legs tightening around Mycroft's waist.

"Ah ah," Mycroft said, increasing the pressure on Lestrade's belly, stopping the movement, and bending further at the waist so he could continue the inexorable withdrawal.

"No, please," Lestrade tried to wriggle free from the holds.

"Please?" Mycroft echoed, his tone gently mocking.

"Don't…"

Mycroft made a satisfied sound, and reversed the movement, glad that Lestrade wasn't looking to see how close he was to losing his own self-control.

Lestrade gave a long groan as Mycroft slid back inside him, faster now, until once again his hips were snug against Lestrade.

"Don't what?" he said softly. "Don't do that again?"

"No, shit, I mean yes – yes, again," Lestrade panted.

"Mmmhmmm," Mycroft looked down, watching his flesh slide out of Lestrade before pushing back home, a grunt escaping his own lips.

"Christ, yes," the words were barely audible, caught up and dragged out of Lestrade's body as he panted.

Mycroft increased the pace – still careful, still controlled, but now his muscles were threatening to disobey, each wave of pleasure making him need to push faster, further. He saw Lestrade looking at him – brown eyes hooded, impossible to tell where the pupil ended and the dark iris began. He finally released Lestrade's wrist, grabbing his hips, pulling him down the bed and meeting him with a hard snap of his hips, knowing and regretting that he'd leave bruises on the flawless skin, but still unable to stop himself.

"Touch yourself," he managed to say, and watched as Lestrade's hand had barely closed around his cock before he was coming, streams of white splashing down over his stomach and onto his chest, the legs around Mycroft quivering, the tendons in Lestrade's neck standing out in cords as his eyes rolled back, lids fluttering closed. A stream of gasped obscenities spilling out of his mouth, tumbling over one another, interspersed with his name.

He'd lost control. He knew it, and he couldn't stop it. No one on earth apart from Greg Lestrade could do this to him, and he was glad, although it terrified him. He pulled hard on the hips in his hands, fingers digging into flesh, and he could feel Lestrade purposefully tensing his sphincter, milking him. The pleasure was white hot, trembling, uncurling from his groin and reaching out to his entire body. As he came his thrusts were erratic, jolting, as he buried himself harder into Lestrade than he ever meant to.

  
His muscles felt like water, useless and shaking and unable to hold him. He curled over, panting, his hands stroking over Lestrade's skin, trying to soothe away any pain he'd caused, feeling the soft hair, the slickness of oil, come and lube, the frantic pulse near Lestrade's groin. He moved, needing to straighten out his legs before cramp hit, needing to hold Lestrade close and breathe in his scent.

Lestrade made a slight whimper as the head of his cock slipped out, slick and now softening. He swung one of Lestrade's legs over, rolling him into his side, and dropped beside him, an arm holding him close, lips finding his sweat-dampened neck, kissing him, breathing his scent, feeling the heat of his skin.

"Okay?" he asked, when he'd got enough breath back.

Lestrade made a noise which could have been taken as just about anything, but a heavy, uncoordinated arm reached behind him and patted Mycroft on the hip, then slid bonelessy back to the mattress.

"I didn’t hurt you?" Mycroft continued, running his fingertips through Lestrade's greying hair.

"Nnnhh," Lestrade managed. "'Sgrt."

Mycroft frowned, then pushed himself up on an elbow. "Gregory, you're not making any sense."

Lestrade took a deep breath, shifting slightly, rolling his head so he could just see Mycroft. "Think you fucked all the sense out of me," he said, still slurring.

Mycroft couldn't help but allow a smile to tug at the edges of his mouth. He rolled away, standing on still-shaky legs, and headed for the bathroom.

Lestrade jumped as a cool, wet flannel slid over his buttocks, dipping between them, the cold a welcome relief. He shifted to allow better access, letting out a sigh as he did so.

"You're sure I didn't hurt you? I fear I got slightly carried away – I'm sorry," Mycroft held the cool cloth in place for a moment, hoping it would help.

"Shhh," Lestrade answered. "'Sfine, wond'ful, best…" he trailed off into a vague mumble before regrouping his speech control. "G't back here," he made a very loose beckoning motion.

"I just…I'm just going to check, I couldn't live with myself if I'd hurt you." He gently slid his finger back inside, noting the looseness, and couldn't even imagine having someone do the same to him – Lestrade's cock was plenty big enough for him, despite being significantly smaller than his own. Lestrade jumped very slightly, but he put that down to sensitivity rather than pain.

After finding no traces of blood he finally gave in, lying face to face with Lestrade and reaching for a kiss.

Lestrade dropped an arm over him, pulling him close, and dropped into a relaxed doze.

Half an hour or so later Lestrade finally found the energy to move again, and rolled to the edge of the bed, wincing slightly as he sat up. Then he stood and headed for the bathroom, he smiled when he thought about the inter-departmental planning meeting he had the next day. He thought he might have a bit of trouble concentrating whilst sitting there for three hours. Although he could guarantee his mind would be in a far better place.

~Fin


End file.
